His doubt was clear as he quickly checked me over with his gloved hands. He even probed the slices on the knees of my jeans from when I had knelt next to Pepe. I had cut myself, but I healed it before he noticed.
“Is Pepe going to be okay?” I asked.
“He’s stable, but he’s going to need surgery.”
More sirens were approaching. The cops.
Perfect.
The EMTs swept out with Pepe strapped to their rolling gurney as the police arrived. I wasn’t surprised to see no-nonsense Lieutenant Markman among them. He came right up to me.
Fab-ulous.
This was just the cherry on the cake of my morning, round two with my local cop.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here, Ms. Meyers?” he asked.
“
God
, I wish I knew!” I meant every word.
Markman’s aura turned the distinct orangey red of suspicion. “Just tell me what you do know. Who was the victim? Your employee? He was almost killed. Do you want that to happen to someone else?”
He could have been my own conscience speaking. For a wild moment, I almost wanted to confess everything—but I’d land up in Bellevue for fourteen days of observation. And wouldn’t that be a sight if I imploded on them while under the glare of the hospital cameras? I’d be the star of the demon Revelation whether I wanted it or not.
Don’t tell me it’s fate! I don’t believe in fate. . . .
So I did my best to live in the real world. “I quit yesterday, so I shut the place down. I have no idea why anyone would want to shoot me. I’m just a bartender. And Pepe’s the janitor.”
“Where were you when this happened?”
“I was in the cooler. Pepe was sweeping out here.”
It took a lot more questions in the same vein before Lieutenant Markman was done with me. Clearly, I was under suspicion now, even though I was one of the victims. The cops were also interviewing people who had been on the street—someone had seen a man running away wearing a black bandana around his head.
I picked up my phone out of the glass when Markman asked for the number for the owners. I gave him Michael’s contact info as the management agent, and I called Michael right then.
He sounded tired when he answered. “Michael, here.”
“Hi, it’s me, Allay.”
His gravelly voice grew much warmer. “Allay, dear, what’s up?”
“Michael, there’s been a . . . shooting.” I almost said “accident,” but it certainly had been intentional. “Pepe’s hurt and they’re taking him to the hospital. Someone shot through the front windows of the bar.”
Instantly Michael was in take-charge mode. “Is he all right? What about you? Are you hurt?” In spite of my protests that I was fine, he insisted, “You should go to the hospital, Allay, and get checked out. You don’t sound good.”
“I’ll go as soon as the police let me.”
“Which hospital is it? I’ll meet you there, and I can take care of the bills for Pepe.”
“Thank you, Michael. You’re the best.”
“It’s why we have good insurance, dear.”
My throat closed at how kind he sounded. Why couldn’t Revel be more like Michael? I never felt that Michael had an ulterior motive for helping me. Vex may have been paying him to manage the bar, but I knew his concern for me was genuine.
But I didn’t want to question Michael in front of Lieutenant Markman, about why he hadn’t told me that the prophet had bought the bar—or that I had quit and closed the place down. It was just as well, because my battery finally died, cutting our conversation short. As long as Pepe was taken care of, the rest didn’t matter.
I wanted nothing more than to get out before demons started showing up en masse. But Lieutenant Markman would only allow me to go upstairs to change my clothes. He wouldn’t let me go to the hospital to check on Pepe. I had to wait while the cops photographed the scene of the crime and gathered up evidence, such as the bullet that had my blood on it. I should have picked it up and kept it—what if they tested it and realized I’d been shot?
An ever-shifting crowd of curious onlookers gathered around outside watching. At one point, when I thought we were nearing the end of my little drama fest, I felt Savor approaching. I almost bolted away, to hell with the consequences. Emma Meyers was dead, anyway. That bullet had killed her as surely as if I had been human.
But Savor might be bringing word about Theo’s release. She might even be bringing Theo himself, if Vex was smart.
So I waited on the edge of my chair. I recognized Savor immediately, though he was in a new male persona. This guise was an older gentleman with a good head of receding silvery hair and a perpetual golf tan, a little rough around the edges, someone who had built an industrial or mechanical empire.
Theo wasn’t with him.
Savor waited until the cops were pulling out to approach the open door. “Ms. Meyers?” he said to me, in case anyone overheard. “I was sent to assess the damage and authorize repairs.”
I joined Savor as he entered. “Michael called the Prophet? Figures.” Lowering my voice so no one outside could hear through the broken windows, I added, “Did Dread send you? Or was it Vex?”
“Dread. He said shots had been fired but . . .” Savor didn’t finish, shaking his head as he stared at the damage.
“Hmm . . . I wonder if Vex is in the loop. I see now why it’s risky for him to let Dread control things. Vex must be dying to get back in charge.”
Savor opened his arms wide at all the debris. “What are you thinking, Allay? Dread sent me over to Mackleby’s this morning to try to calm the guy down. He practically had a stroke in front of me.”
“I’ll call the Internal Revenue auditor next. He took payments for years. You can tell Dread that. He’s a nice juicy bug I can squish.”
Savor was shaking his head as if I’d gone crazy. “You’re upsetting Dread, Allay. You don’t want him against you.”
“Oh, I think it’s a little too late for that.” The name of the game was dissension in the ranks. And I was causing it.
By the time we made cursory rounds so Savor could fulfill his role, the cop cars had disappeared up the street. I went outside and drew down the metal shutter in front of all the lingering, curious eyes and padlocked it. As I walked away, my last sight of the bar was of streamers of yellow crime tape the cops used to hold people back, fluttering from the tree trunk into the gutter.
Savor caught up with me, muttering, “I knew you wouldn’t run to Glory.”
I gave him a look. “Glory wants me dead; why would I go to her?”
“Don’t be so sure of that. You never know what people will do. Look at you—you’re the last person I can imagine who would turn to blackmail.”
That stung. “Tell Dread to let Theo go. If they don’t cut him loose and keep out of his life, I’ll report every dirty deal I’ve been involved in for the past decade. The fact that my bar was just strafed like some kind of gangster movie will lend me some credibility, don’t you think?”
Savor smacked his forehead with a beefy hand. “Allay, Allay. You’re in way over your head. My advice is for you to run away. As far and fast as you can.”
I rounded the corner onto Houston, the busy crosstown street. “What do you think I’m doing? If you’ll leave me alone, I can get on with it.”
Before Savor could reply, I sensed other demons— at least four, maybe five—approaching rapidly from the south.
I ran into Houston, my arm raised in a futile attempt to flag down a cab. A cab was safety, mobility, protection against demons. But the few cabs that went by were already hired, carrying people to work.
With the bombardment of signatures growing stronger, I continued running down Houston with Savor right on my heels. Turning onto the street behind me, I could feel the stinging of a hundred bees, the terrible sensation caused by Goad, dominating the other signatures. He was a Vex demon.
I really didn’t want to see Goad. He was a sociopath on a leash, if I ever met one.
My ears were also ringing, which meant Stun was with them. Stun was Shock’s offspring, but she had rarely spoken to him since he was born fifty years ago.
I realized Savor wasn’t chasing me; he was running with me, also looking back to judge where the demons were coming from. His glance said that ten-to-one Goad and Stun were after me, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
I ran across Clinton Street amid blaring horns, ignoring the DON’T WALK signs. I nearly killed myself again crossing to the other side of Houston against the light. Savor shouted at cars in his deep voice, banging on hoods to get their attention as we passed between them.
In the narrow streets of the Lower East Side, we ran down Suffolk against the traffic. I was about to veer onto Rivington, when the signatures came barreling at us from the west and a cargo van pulled up in front of us.
Five demons jumped out, dressed in white scrubs as if they were orderlies from a hospital. The van had a huge BELLEVUE decal on it.
One demon I could handle, even two—but not five, not even if Savor fought by my side.
I ran.
They caught me before the end of the block, piling on me in a tangle of arms and legs, ignoring my blows. They trussed me up in a thick leather straitjacket, wrapping my arms around me, and shackling my legs in heavy iron cuffs. Even for a demon, it would be hard to break free of that.
I knew because this wasn’t the first time I’d been locked into a straitjacket. It brought back all those terrifying memories of when I was a teenager and just possessed by a demon. I had huddled in a straitjacket in a cell for hours, listening to distant, eerie cries and unable to scratch or wipe my runny nose or eyes. I felt that same hopelessness, unable to control myself, much less what happened, as lost as I could be.
The demons carried me facedown by my elbows and legs. Savor was hovering near the van, watching. He seemed reluctant to get too close in case they came after him next.
Goad was assuring a few passersby. “Everything’s under control. The patient is fine now.”
“Where are you taking me?” I gasped, trying to see with my face only inches from the sidewalk.
“Where you’ll be safe,” Goad said with a rough laugh as they tossed me into the back of the van.
15
I rattled around in the back of the truck, mostly faceup. It was clear where we were going when I saw the cables of the bridge—back to Brooklyn.
The van drove around the back of the Prophet’s Center and through an open loading dock bay. A driveway circled down to the basement where a dozen other cars were parked. I was tossed onto the cement, and the van quickly returned up the ramp. Goad was the only demon who stayed with me.
I strained every muscle I could, willing myself to break free. Stitches on the leather began to pop. My tendons tore, but I pressed on. Goad kicked my back, and my breath exploded from me. I lay there gasping and glaring up at him.
Goad grinned and reached down to stroke my cheek, absorbing my flare of outrage. Because of Vex’s protection, Goad had stayed away from me. But Shock said he was known for seeking out demon energy. “Such a sweet morsel . . . ,” he murmured almost lovingly.
He drew harder, straining at my shields. His fingertips pressed into my skin as if he wanted to push his whole hand into me, to penetrate my defenses physically if he couldn’t do it spiritually.
“Asshole!” I concentrated on holding my shields together. I wouldn’t allow him to shake my will like Pique had done.
The elevator pinged, startling us both. Goad jerked back before he could be caught sampling the catch.
I saw the huge boots first, and though these were combat-style boots, it reminded me of the ones that had disappeared through my skylight. Looking up, I saw it was Montagna, Dread’s chief of security. As she lifted me easily and dumped me in the little elevator, I wondered if maybe she was the human who’d helped the demon get into my apartment.
If so, that meant Dread was in control of the stealthy demon, or somehow he had learned how to hide his own signature. It made sense that a demon as old as Dread would be the one to discover a way to conceal it.
Goad stayed in the underground garage, giving me a wave of his fingertips good- bye. He had never gotten a taste of me before, but his intent expression said he would do whatever he could to feed off me again. Just what I needed—another demon stalking me. It was getting crowded in my personal corner of hell.
The elevator went up to the top floor, and the door opened into a small, enclosed foyer that I had never seen before. The foyer and elevator were private with no two-way mirrors or cameras peering down. I doubted there was any record of my being brought here.
Dread was close by, but I couldn’t feel Vex in the Prophet’s Center. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Montagna dragged me through an open door. It closed behind us with a muffled sound, as if it sealed when it locked.
At the end of the narrow room was a huge, circular cage, five feet across and eight feet tall. At first sight it looked like a birdcage because of its peaked roof and decorative ironwork scrolls between the bars. The bars looked strong, plus they were spaced so closely that a demon wouldn’t be able to shrink enough to squeeze through. Some demons could make themselves appear as young as a six-year-old, but even a little girl’s head wouldn’t fit through those bars.
Montagna opened the small door on the cage and shoved me inside, clanging it shut behind me. I fell to the floor, unable to keep my balance with my arms locked around myself in the straitjacket. My chin hit the smooth metal floor.
The door on the other side of the room opened, and Dread appeared. I struggled to roll over. There was no way I was lying like a beetle on my back in front of him.
